


The Fool Who Follows

by lilyhandmaiden



Series: Movie Night [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post-Episode: s01e06 FZZT, Star Wars - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:33:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3126254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyhandmaiden/pseuds/lilyhandmaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of "FZZT," FitzSimmons watch Star Wars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fool Who Follows

The morning after Jemma Simmons created an antiserum which could cure an alien virus and Leo Fitz watched her jump from a plane without a parachute in an attempt to save their team, both scientists were given the day off. Or, at least, that was how Coulson put it. Simmons used the term “banned from the lab,” and fumed.

“He’s punishing me when I was honestly only trying to do what was best!”

“I don’t think he means it as a punishment, Jem,” Fitz said, looking up at her from his seat on her bed. “Probably the opposite.”

She was trying to pace in the very limited private space the bunk afforded her. She was about one step in either direction from spinning in place like one of their early, malfunctioning DWARF models.

“Well, however he means it, it _is_. You know that, Fitz. He doesn’t understand the way the scientific mind works.”

“He wants us to rest, and I think you probably should. Let your body recover, if nothing else.”

She shot him a withering look. “I’m fine now.” She wasn’t—the virus was gone, but it had left her paler than usual, clearly exhausted—but he knew better than to argue. It would be easier to let her wear herself out ranting.

“I just want to go back to doing my job and let everything return to normal. _You_ understand that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

“ _Well_ , then.” At last Simmons sat down heavily on the bed, her weakened legs protesting the exercise, but she continued to wring her hands. “Why can’t he see that all this unnecessary foolishness will achieve is that I’ll be forced to just _sit_ here, _thinking_ about...” She trailed off.

“About how you almost died?” His eyes were unflinching, and she met them for only a moment before lowering her own and nodding.

Fitz wondered if he’d been too harsh, saying it out loud like that, and he tentatively reached out and put an arm around her shoulders, gratified when she leaned into him just a little bit. Usually when one of them used work as a coping mechanism, a distraction from any number of personal and professional stresses, the other would work silently alongside in a show of support. He could only do the same thing now, minus the lab, minus the actual work. Solidarity lounging—he could manage that. In fact, though he didn’t want to say it, his own muscles—seemingly every single one he had—ached from the previous day’s hours of tension, and he felt stretched thin.

“How about you and I just stay in here and watch stuff all day? All resting, no thinking.”

Simmons smiled and said it was a wonderful idea. She even told him that he, as the hero of the hour, could pick the first movie, though he was pretty certain that she knew he’d pick _Star Wars_.

Simmons liked the series well enough, but between the two of them, the _Star Wars_ saga was definitely Fitz’s thing. They were his comfort films, to the extent that when they were at Sci-Ops, if Simmons came into a room and found him watching _Star Wars_ , her first question would be, “what happened?” and she could be reasonably certain that the answer would be something either very good or very bad. Today it was a bit of both bad (she had almost died) and good (she hadn’t died), and he felt like they both could probably use a bit of comfort.

At the very least, his supposition that she really did need rest was proved when, a half hour into _A New Hope_ , she fell asleep. The logistical problem of watching anything on the TVs in their bunks presented a limited number of comfortable options, so they had squeezed in beside one another on the bed. This meant that Fitz was now pressed between a sleeping Simmons and the wall, barely able to move for fear of waking her or accidentally shoving her onto the floor. One of her arms was wrapped around his and her face was nuzzled into his shoulder, so he could feel her breathing through his shirt and smell her shampoo. He wished that he could just fall asleep, too, but he was too busy being angry at Luke Skywalker.

This was a new experience for him, because he was used to identifying with Luke—a kid who didn’t know who his dad was, whose special abilities got him out into the world and let him prove himself. But for the first time, Fitz was looking at Luke and thinking, _What a bloody idiot._

Luke Skywalker, he saw now, was young and naive and had no idea what he was getting into, rushing headlong into danger on some stupid quest for adventure, not considering the risk to himself and others. _He’s like Simmons_ , Fitz thought, _treating this whole assignment like it’s her damn study abroad opportunity. ‘Oh, Fitz, it’s the most perfect opportunity for us to see the world.’_ She’d almost gotten killed yesterday, and it was her own fault.

Out of the center of the all the emotion he’d been through in the past 48 hours, the terror and hope and disappointment and relief, Fitz felt a resurgence of the anger which had been his kneejerk reaction when he’d found out Simmons was infected. He thought about waking her up and telling her off again: _I’d have had to talk to your parents, do you realize that? Your mum would have asked to talk to me and I’d have had to say yes. And I’d have had to look at your dead body all the way across the Atlantic—that is, if we’d even found your body in the great big bloody ocean, and if we didn’t, I’d have had to think about you getting eaten by fish or washing up on some lonesome beach... And then I’d have had to go to your damn funeral. Hell, I’d probably have had to_ speak _at the thing. And then you’d be, what? Just gone forever, and I’d be... I’d be Fitz without Simmons. All because you realized too late that we aren’t suited for this kind of..._

 _And now you’ve gone and ruined_ Star Wars _for me as well, apparently._

But he looked at her sleeping, and he couldn’t do it, even though he suspected that she was now actually drooling on his sleeve.

“Who’s more foolish,” the voice of Obi-Wan Kenobi inquired from the wall screen, “the fool or the fool who follows him?”

“Yeah, all right,” Fitz muttered. Jemma Simmons’s sweat and tear-stained face on the other side of a glass wall swam into his mind’s eye. The old Jedi had a point. He couldn't be angry at her.

However foolish it made him, she had never forced him to follow her anywhere.

Wait. Did that make Simmons his Obi-Wan? No. That was ridiculous. Leia’s bravery in the face of a death sentence, that was Simmons. After the time she’d had, he’d tried to spare her from having to think too much about what had happened, and now here _he_ was, sitting here, thinking about it. He was ruining _Star Wars_ for himself, really.

So, Fitz was Luke Skywalker after all—he didn’t seek danger out, necessarily, he was thrust into dangerous situations he wasn’t ready for. When it came down to it, though, Luke managed to rise to the occasion and actually save the people he cared about.

Fitz sighed, and his gaze wandered down to Simmons again, her head pillowed on his arm, fast asleep.

“I’m Luke Skywalker,” the voice from the screen declared. “I’m here to rescue you.”


End file.
